Funeral In The Hamptons
by SassyJ
Summary: When a Funeral Director's number comes up, John and Zoe go undercover again as husband and wife. Things are tricky enough with the threat being hard to spot, but the emotional tension makes them both a little careless. Suddenly John and Zoe are in deep, deep trouble. Can Finch, Carter and Fusco save their lives.
1. Chapter 1

Especially for KSPretenderfan

* * *

"A new number Mr Reese." Finch limped to the glass board and tacked up a picture of an austere-looking, middle-aged man in a dark suit.

Reese selected a fresh donut from the box, ignoring Bear's seated shuffle and lip licking and the hopeful look in the dog's eyes. He wandered over to the board. "Looks funereal."

"Strange you should say that," Finch looked up from his intelligence gathering. "Mr Vincent Pennyman. Funeral Director. We need a little help on this one."

Reese studied the address on the piece of paper that Finch handed to him. "The Hamptons? Really?"

"Your bags are packed." Finch handed over a set of car keys, "and for your cover. Miz Morgan has agreed to be your wife, again." He handed over another set of keys "the house keys, Mr and Mrs John Randall are there to close down the house and arrange the funeral of Captain William Martin, US Navy retired, Mrs John Randall's dearly departed uncle, who hasn't lived in the house for the last fifteen years, but has a family plot at the cemetery. And you wouldn't believe what I had to do to get that. Your back stories, Mr John Randall is an Asset Manager for a Private Securities firm, Mrs John Randall is a Campaign Manager. Your wedding rings," he handed John a box, "engraved with the date of your wedding and _vous, et nul autre_, I draw the line at the romantic details, you can work that out with Miz Morgan."

Finch picked up some letters, "death certificate, signed release, the body of Captain Martin is being delivered to the funeral home today, you have your first appointment with Mr Vincent Pennyman later today. You're picking Zoe up in fifteen minutes."

Reese sighed. He wasn't sure exactly when things had begun to change between him and Zoe, but it was getting harder and harder to maintain a professional distance.

"I realize Mr Reese that this situation is perhaps a little awkward, but it really makes the most sense."

"I know." Said Reese. "I'm wondering why a funeral director would come on to anyone's radar."

Picking Zoe up from her home, Reese had cause to wonder if Finch was trying to tell him something. The way she glided down the stairs, the way she fit in his arms, her perfume, everything about Zoe Morgan was something he wanted, and something he couldn't want.

Life was never going to be normal. Zoe did what he did, fixed problems, they just went about it in different ways. The trouble was, Reese decided, that his reaction to her was one thing neither of them could fix. If he closed his eyes he could still picture Leila, still picture two lonely bachelors standing outside the little house, with the scene of domestic bliss unfolding before their eyes. Still wishing, and wanting, and hoping.

Still picture that moment in the park where Harold Finch the world's most secretive, obsessive, compulsive and private billionaire had revealed a pain so deep it tore at John Reese's nerve endings.

Reese had had a few short months and four days with Jessica. Harold had had four years of his heart's investment in Grace, and she in him. He heard the pain in both their voices, and wanted to howl his own agony out at that devastating choice that Harold had made. Harold had walked away, and Grace had stopped walking. He could hear it the broken voice, "a very nice guy", in the little nod of her head, in the too wide half smile, curling in on itself at the edges and the frantic darting eyes.

Reese probed his memories of Jessica. He had failed her at the last. And that hurt. But he had never really had her.

It didn't make the feelings of longing, stirred up by Harold's impulsive baby snatch, any easier to cope with.

Now Zoe Morgan was tap-dancing across his nerve centers, and John was uncomfortable about it. It was very simple, Zoe made him believe that he could have it all. He didn't have a clue how she had done it but Zoe Morgan had made John Reese love her.

And he was certain that she didn't love him.

He was also certain that this was impossible, and that this foolish day-dreaming was going to get someone, probably himself, killed.

She glided down the steps in front of her home towards him. One bag, and a suiter, just like his luggage. From somewhere Finch had managed to conjure up luggage that said his and hers. Her arms went wide and curved around his neck and somehow her entire left side imprinted itself indelibly upon his psyche as if she had hog-tied and branded him.

Maxine Angelis had said he was a little hung up on Zoe Morgan. A _little_ did not come close to the feelings that rocketed through him when she touched him. If he thought about it he could still feel the imprint of her fingers on his backside. The impromptu pat said "this is not over."

"Mr and Mrs John Randall." Zoe was looking over the notes that Finch had made for her. John adjusted his seat, made himself comfortable for the long drive. Being aware of Zoe was bad enough when he was just the hired gun who was there to drive. Being _aware_ of Zoe was making him crazy.

She knew it too. There was a special warmth to her smile, the incline of her body in the passenger seat, the way she occasionally uncrossed and re-crossed her legs. The frisson of stockings against the lining of her skirt. Her cashmere sweater, he imagined the softness of the knit against the softness of her skin. He imagined peeling it off her...

_Dammit_. He shifted a little uncomfortably in the driver's seat.

"Tired, darling?" A throaty purr. _Oh god now she knows._ He made a non-committal noise deep in his throat and resolutely kept his eyes on the road. Sensing her smile, the teasing in her eyes.

He was driving into hell, _stick a fork in me, I'm done_.


	2. Chapter 2

If the doorbell rang one more time, Zoe Morgan swore she was going to let John shoot somebody.

From the instant they arrived in town and made their way to the house, Zoe could feel eyes on them. The curtains twitched in the houses as John drove up the street and swung the car in through the gates of the property.

On one hand, Zoe could see why. The house was huge, old, with a wealth of period detail that gave Zoe the shivers, she liked her surroundings well finished and modern. Not like something out of the Amityville Horror. But it screamed class and old money.

Even John seemed a bit thrown by the house. "Really, Finch." He'd muttered staring up at the rather cold and forbidding building. Zoe didn't hear Finch's reply, but she had the feeling that she wasn't going to like the place much.

John carried their bags, and Zoe led the way. No Bear this time, they weren't trying to fit into the suburban dream, just bury Zoe's Uncle Willie.

They'd barely set their luggage down in the hallway before the doorbell rang. Zoe schooled her features into _grieving niece_ and answered the door.

By the third curious neighbour with a casserole dish and prying questions had arrived, Zoe figured she had the routine down pat. Look sad, lean against tall handsome husband and answer questions in a trembling voice.

For John it was equal parts delight and torture. Zoe was leaning into him, his arm curved quite naturally around her hip, hand resting gently against her stomach. He'd been physically aware of Zoe from the day they met. One kiss while he was handcuffed to a chair was not nearly enough. He wanted to hold her in his arms, kiss her until that devious hard shell cracked. Not to hurt her but to reach the real Zoe. The Zoe before her father and life choices turned into one of the best players he'd ever encountered. He wanted to let his own guard down and let her inside. However dangerous that might be.

A dangerous dream that Zoe shared if he did but know it. She leaned against him and daddy's little princess wished in her secret heart that she and John could be the people that they should have been before it all went wrong.

* * *

Into that little sea of hormones and frustration, Finch had pitched them. As he listened to the conversations he couldn't help but notice the change in pitch and tone of their voices as his two operatives interacted with each other and their nosy neighbours.

Harold Finch realized that he may just have made a dangerous situation worse. It honestly hadn't occurred to him that John's obvious attraction to Zoe could be a threat to both of them. Or that Zoe Morgan, the fixer who played every angle, was every bit as attracted to John.

It was done. There was nothing he could do to change things now. Finch just hoped that they could keep from being distracted. He didn't like hunches, but there was something off about this one. It brought back memories of Root.

Finch closed his eyes and clenched his jaw and rode out the wave of fear that still rocketed through him. It had been months, months since John had warned Root what he might do to her if she came near Finch again. And Finch had absolutely no doubt of the sincerity of John's words, there was a look of cold rage in John's eyes as he threatened her that Finch had never seen before. A promise that John would tear her apart if she tried anything. Finch's fear was part for himself, and partly for his partner.

Reese's physical gifts and combination of character qualities made him unique, and probably the most understanding friend that Finch had ever had. He had lost almost everything else, or given it up. He didn't think he could give up John and this partnership now even if he wanted to. It meant more than he ever thought it would, not being alone.

* * *

The funeral home was like something out of a Gothic nightmare. Clearly Mr Vincent Pennyman was born to be a funeral director. His voice was dismal and his manner rather cold.

"I can see why someone would probably want to kill him." Zoe whispered as they walked away, John's arm around her waist, the warmth of John's body against her side. "That place is creepy."

"It's a funeral home."

"And those nasty little bells. Why did he insist on mentioning the burial customs of the Victorian era?"

"Granted, that was a bit creepy."

"John, that was more than a bit creepy… you didn't see the way he was looking at me when he was talking about that." She made a flicking gesture with her fingers.

"I got what we came for."

"Good. When this is over. _This_ is over." She made another flicking gesture.

Reese kept his expression deliberately blank, he couldn't help the stabbing feeling in his heart. She was going to wind up hating him. Not much he could do about it, but feel sad.

Zoe felt his withdrawal, his arm remained around her, but he seemed to go away from her then. She straightened her back, John's putting up barriers hurt, but she would never let him see that.

They walked on, apparently together, shielding the ache of rejection from the world's prying eyes, unaware that sharp eyes watched them from the side of the building.

Another undercover job, another evening, John actually contemplated pleading headache and going to bed. Anything but spend another night revealing his feelings to Zoe in everything he said and did. She wasn't interested. She had made that clear enough. When this was over, they would be over. She was more than even and that was them done.

Too bad for him that he didn't feel like that. But then it wasn't as though he could offer her anything.

* * *

His fingers caressed the small bell's brass surface. Fate had brought him another lovely lady, and soon she would join the six that already enjoyed the perfect end.


	3. Chapter 3

"The fingerprints came back to Vincent Pennyman, Mr Reese. I'm sorry, but you are going to have to look deeper."

Reese scowled. At least if they were out poking around at the funeral home, he would be concentrating on that, and not this strange feeling of loss that made no sense.

"We're going back to the funeral home." He said.

"What creepy detail did we miss the first time?" Zoe, as cool as the iceberg that sank the Titanic.

He got it. She was pissed at him. "Nothing, but something's definitely not right there."

She shrugged. "Well I'm ready if you are."

It was awkward, but they were both professional, and he knew there was no way that Zoe would consent to stay at home like the good little wife. Searches were quicker with two anyway. Supressing his need to protect her, which she almost certainly wouldn't thank him for, John indicated she should go through the door first, and he locked it behind them.

It began to rain as they left the car and moved up to the ugly old building.

Reese was not a fanciful man, he dealt in rational and what he could fight right in front of him, but even he had to admit that Zoe was right, this place was very creepy.

"I'm going to his office," Zoe whispered, "you look around. There's something really off about those brass bells." She shuddered.

They were alone, confident that he could protect her easily, and needing to regroup his thoughts, he nodded.

Zoe headed to the office, put a little distance between herself and John because this was getting stupid.

The office space was miserable, dark and forbidding, a mantelpiece with another row of the creepy little bells. Pennyman seemed obsessed by the bells, Zoe touched one, and realized why they gave her the creeps. The bells didn't have any clappers.

No matter how hard you rang, no one would ever hear you.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" The voice was low, a sibilant hiss. Zoe looked round in terror as the man grabbed her arm. He had a gun. He pressed it to her side. "Call him Mrs Randall."

She almost squeaked in terror. "Call him, call your husband."

"John." Her voice was barely above a whisper, and the muzzle of the gun jammed hard into her ribs. "You can do better than that."

"JOHN."

He stepped through the other doorway, coming up behind them. "Let her go."

Pennyman turned, pulling Zoe round with him, and her eyes widened in shock.

John caught the shock in Zoe's eyes, sensed movement just too late as a hand clamped something white over his nose and mouth. He struggled, but his assailant was too close behind him, he was trying to hold his breath but jab in his ribs caused him to gasp and inhale.

Zoe let out a moan of terror as John fell to his knees and slumped forwards to the ground. Out cold.

There were two Pennymans. The one hold a gun on her may have been the one that they had met, but she couldn't be sure. The way the other one just stepped over John to take a lock of her hair and sniff it. He was crazy.

Crazy.

John was out cold on the floor. At their mercy. And she had the feeling that however crazy Vincent Pennyman sniffing at her hair was, Vincent Pennyman holding the gun to her ribs was pretty shrewd.

"Tie him up." Gun-toting Vincent said. Sniffing Vincent gave him a glare but moved to obey.

Zoe could only watch as John was stripped of his jacket, searched thoroughly then his arms were dragged back, his hands placed palm to palm and his wrists bound firmly and expertly; then Sniffing Vincent slid rope up around John's shoulders, running down, forcing John's elbows closer and closer behind his back. She couldn't imagine how much that was going to hurt, until she was pushed to her knees. She found herself face down on the floor as her wrists and elbows were bound firmly and painfully tightly behind her back, she turned her head to see John, still unconscious. Hands bound her ankles, and then John's.

They moved off then and Zoe squirmed trying to fight her bonds. Footsteps announced the twin Pennymans' return, and Zoe let out a shriek of fright as they deposited a long wooden crate on the floor. She struggled as she was lifted, but to no avail as she was easily dropped on her side in the box. John dumped in next to her, and Zoe winced as his head connected hard with the wooden floor of the box.

She was tough, but nothing prepared her for what these two twisted people were about to do. As the lid came down, Zoe lost it, screaming, struggling and panicking, John's unresponsive body right next to her.

She lost track of time, the box was moved she knew that; they were not quite sealed in, there was a hole above her head, she held on to that, perhaps they wouldn't suffocate, if there was a hole there was air.

John was starting to return to consciousness, and she moved a little closer to him seeking the comfort of his presence.

John felt light-headed and sick, and his head was pounding, _halothane_… he could hear the catch in Zoe's breathing, she was terrified and he couldn't blame her. They were alone in the dark, bound, trapped in a box of some kind. He could feel movement.

Then the movement stopped.

Something was shoved into the small hole above their heads, he could still feel a breeze so it was a tube of some kind.

Then a thud.

He heard Zoe whimper and he wriggled closer. "Zoe" he whispered.

"Oh god… John… they're burying us."

He pressed his forehead to hers, gently. "I know." He nuzzled her cheek. "We're not alone, Zoe. I promise you." Very gently his lips sought hers.

There was comfort, sweetness and real love in his kiss. Later she would swear that this was the moment that the hard shell around her heart cracked into a million pieces. Because John Reese loved her. Maybe not forever… Maybe it was just the here and now, but he cared. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

"My arms hurt." She whispered when coherent thought reasserted itself, "can we get untied?"

It would be a very long and painful wait for rescue if they couldn't, but John's fingers had encountered a sharp piece of something sticking out of his side of the box. Feeling it carefully with his fingers, it was quite strong, he took a deep breath. With his hands tied behind him, he knew the chances of cutting himself were extremely high, but getting free of this painful tie which was already putting incredible pressure on his shoulders and back, the benefits far outweighed the pain.

"I think so." He eased back and began to saw at the ropes around his wrists.


	4. Chapter 4

Harold Finch would happily concede that he was a worrier. He could be single-minded, he was not easy to live with and he found trust almost impossible. Until a big ex-soldier and former CIA-operator came into his life, and Harold found all his boundaries challenged.

Some he minded, but the surprise to him was how many of his boundaries Harold was prepared… no _HAPPY_, for John Reese to violate. After all, it seemed only fair. Harold had given John a job, a job which put John's life at risk most days of the week. John had been shot and beaten up working for Harold. Yet his loyalty never faltered.

When Harold needed him, even though he should not have been, John was there. He said it was because he was returning the favor. But they both knew the truth, they had come to depend on each other, need each other and that was that.

Now Harold had gone and thrust John, and Zoe Morgan, into a situation made worse by their obvious attraction to each other. Harold cursed how he could have been so blind, cursed his willful obtuseness that had put John and Zoe's lives in danger. Never mind professionalism, he didn't care about that, he just wanted both of them back safely.

No word for over an hour. John was a man you could set a watch by, and even though Finch never trusted hunches, the concept of which belonged in detective novels and not the real world, he trusted John and John's finely tuned instincts.

Finch did not waste time in waiting around to see what would happen. He called Carter and Fusco.

When the call came in, Finch's news set Carter's alarm bells ringing. The file on her desk, evidence of a crime but no body in the case of Miss Jeanne Lewis. Jeanne, attractive, recently divorced, mid forties, had disappeared sometime before she was due to leave on vacation.

Carter jumped to her feet, picked up her keys, and practically grabbed Fusco as he was headed back to his desk.

"What gives?" Fusco had been looking forward to that donut, he hated night shift.

"John's in trouble."

"I thought wonderboy was the trouble."

Carter gave him the hard stare. "I think this time he's in the kind of trouble that he won't be able to get out of on his own."

Fusco swallowed. He found it difficult to imagine a situation that Reese wouldn't be able to get out of on his own. Fusco's own introduction to John Reese was having a beaten and handcuffed man in the backseat of a police cruiser who managed to conceal a gas grenade and then shoot Fusco in the back of his vest after he crashed the car from the backseat.

Finch met them there. Fidgety with worry, Bear pacing restlessly beside him.

When even the dog was worried, Fusco changed his mind.

* * *

John's wrists were both bleeding, the pain from the cuts he was inflicting on himself was making his hands tremble, but finally the ropes were parting. "Back to back" he muttered as the ropes parted and his hands were free. He inched over on his other side and fumbled for Zoe's wrists. Slowly he worked at the knots until the ropes slid free. "Slide down." He said.

Zoe moved down, felt his fingers stiffly working at the knots which held her elbows in the tight inescapably painful grip. She gasped as the rope loosened and her elbows flopped free. Her shoulders and back ached like hell, but Zoe rolled over and attacked the ropes holding John's elbows back.

It was a struggle, but finally she managed it, his groan of pain startled her. "John?" Zoe dug in the pocket of her pencil skirt for the tiny little emergency key lock light that she kept handy. Squeezed it to illuminate less than half the space they were trapped in, but the light was enough to see what John had done to himself to get them free.

"Oh god… John!" The light went out as Zoe reached out to take his trembling hands in hers. His blood was slick beneath her fingers, his skin was chilled too and she started to shiver herself. Her thin sweater and skirt were hardly warm clothing.

"It's nothing." She might even have believed him if her hand had not brushed up against the nasty gash on the back of his right wrist, the quiet hiss of pain when she did said otherwise.

"It's not nothing, John."

It took him two attempts to reply, which was when she realized that the temperature had dipped. "Damn, it's cold in here."

She shivered, he put his arms around her then and pulled her close. Zoe burrowed into him. Perhaps shared bodily warmth, what little they had left, would keep them going.

* * *

The funeral home was as bad as John and Zoe had mentioned. Carter and Finch entered, Fusco suddenly found that he really preferred being on the outside, even though it was cold and the rain was now coming down in earnest.

It was Bear who found their first lead, Finch let him off the leash, and the dog dived away with a whimper, "Bear…" Finch limped after the errant canine, and stopped short. Bear was coming back, Reese's jacket in his jaws, he paused and sat in front of Finch. "This isn't good." Finch took the jacket from Bear's jaws, some random corner of his mind processed that it was a cold and wet night, that Reese would hardly be out there in just his shirt.

Carter visibly paled at the sight. Until then she had wanted to believe Fusco that John could never be in this much trouble in the suburbs. Now proof that something had gone very wrong was right in front of her.

* * *

It was getting colder, they clung to each other as water dripped down the tube into their terrifying prison. They had already tried everything they could think of to break out, but the weight of the earth above them was just too much.

John wrapped his arms around Zoe and pressed her as tightly to his body as he could manage. She buried her face in his neck and pressed herself tightly against him, bent her knees so that she could get a knee between his.

"I'm sorry." He whispered.

"What for?"

"Getting you into this."

"John, I'm a big girl. I chose to get into this." She pressed her lips to his.

He returned her kiss, with interest. It was so cold that their teeth were chattering, but she still managed to tease him when they broke apart. "Some day you are going to have to make good on your innuendoes."

He closed his eyes then, silently praying that they would get the opportunity, that Finch and Carter would find them. That if it was too late, he would go in the ground under his real name. That Harold Finch would know that he was the only real friend that John had ever had, and that Harold should go to his Grace and hold her and never let her go again. Because love was worth fighting for.


	5. Chapter 5

Fusco figured he couldn't stand around waiting for something to happen. So while Carter and Finch and their furry friend were investigating the inside of the funeral home, Fusco was going to have a poke around on the outside.

He carefully went over the yard, anything that could be a clue to where John and his friend had gone.

It was the mud that squelched under foot that gave him the idea. For just a moment his head spun at the possibility. Mr Tall, Dark and Fearsome was tough and well able to take care of himself. Fusco couldn't imagine Mr Mortuary Clerk getting the drop on Reese. Yet Reese and his lady friend were nowhere to be seen, Reese's jacket here, mud on the ground, big lumps of it, as though someone had been digging.

* * *

They were lying in a puddle that was spreading, adding to the cold. Reese eased onto his back, the movement lifting Zoe out of the water. "John." Her voice was shaking with cold "I'm a big girl." It took her three tries to get it out.

"I know." His teeth were chattering so _know_ had an extra syllable or two. The icy water felt like his spine was freezing. The pain surprisingly sharp, but if it kept him awake that wasn't a bad thing.

Finch was coming. Finch would find them. He was absolutely certain of that. He wrapped his stiff cold arms tighter around Zoe. _Protect Zoe_. He couldn't even feel the pain from his bloodied, torn-up wrists any more, and his fingers were frozen.

* * *

Fusco didn't have a clear plan exactly, just follow the clumps of earth. There were wheel impressions in the ground too. No one dug graves and buried coffins in the dark. So whatever had gone on here was definitely outside the law. And Lionel hadn't been a cop for so many years without learning a thing or two about the most vile and depraved side of human nature.

He found a shovel leaning against a waste basket, the soil looked and smelt fresh. He picked it up, horror seeping into the very core of his being. Vile, sick, depraved, those he could deal with. _This_. This was something else.

He just couldn't see Wonderboy dead. Which meant that the sick bastard or bastards that had done this had buried him alive. The sudden rush of bile to his throat warned him just in time, Fusco turned and vomited. His lunch came back with a vengeance, all over a dead plant in a broken pot that someone had dumped in the bottom of the thoughtfully provided trash can. He heaved until he could heave no more. Then grabbed the shovel again, crushing the terrifying images in his brain, he aimed his flashlight at the ground.

The cemetery was huge, and old, and rather haphazardly populated, but Fusco doggedly stuck to the wheelbarrow tracks, and the occasional clump of mud.

There were three. Three graves, and the rain was coming down harder. And all Fusco could think of was that the big guy needed him, and this was one time that Lionel really didn't want to let him down.

He was just starting to feel panic when he noticed it. A gray pipe sticking up next to the temporary cross. Fusco fell to his knees. "JOHN… JOHN…" Jokes were all gone, bane of his existence or not, no one deserved that. He was just starting to feel the crushing chill of being too late, when a thin voice came from the pipe.

"Help." A woman's voice, but he knew they were together.

'HANG ON!" he yelled, scrambling to his feet he picked up the shovel and began to dig. A furry body brushed by him and Bear's scrabbling paws began to shovel dirt backwards.

"Fusco?" Carter's voice.

"They're here." He kept shoveling. Digging hard.

"Lionel, I think we ought to wait." She tried. Fusco paused for long enough to give her an evil stare.

"Really? Because I kinda thought getting them out now was more important." He snapped.

"Backhoe."

"We have no time for that." Fusco carried on shoveling, throwing dirt everywhere. This wasn't a time for neatness. "They're trapped down there. They could both be injured, but she's conscious." He left it unsaid. Carter didn't need to hear that from him. Or Finch either.

Lionel heard Finch's whispered "Oh god… Mr Reese?"

He dug with renewed energy. Carter doing what she could to help with a small shovel she had found abandoned nearby. Finch hovered, clutching an umbrella, there really wasn't room for anyone else to help anyway.

Finally Fusco struck wood. The box wasn't clear but they had no time for that. If he could break in, they would be out of there in minutes. He jammed the business end of the shovel under the edge of the box, and levered with all his strength. For a very long moment he strained, turning purple as he struggled to lift the lid.

There was a very loud crack and a snap, and the top part of the lid parted from the box. A slim hand reached up, and Fusco seized hold of it. The fingers were curled and numb with cold, and Fusco transferred his grip to her wrist before pulling her out of the box. Passed her off to Carter and Finch's care.

"John."

Silence. With Zoe lifted clear, Fusco could see him. He was unmoving, his lips were blue.

"John…" Awkwardly Fusco kneeled down reaching down into the crate. Fumbling for a pulse.

High, thready, weak. He was in a bad way. "Carter!" She was on him in a moment. Together they reached down into the box. Lifted him by his mangled wrists. With Carter gently supporting his head, they managed to drag his heavy body free of the box.

Fusco staggered, breathing hard. Reese might have been lean built but he was muscular and heavy to move.

She had never thought it would end like this. She knew on a rational level that what John and his partner did every single day could lead to John's death. But not like this.

She knelt in the mud, uncaring about the state of her clothes, she could feel the tears running down her face.

She laid her hand against his cheek. Her fingers brushed his throat and she realised he was still with her.

She cried then for everything. Finch reached her side then and Joss' practical side took over. She could do this.


	6. Chapter 6

Fusco freed Reese's ankles from the rope binding them, and climbed out of the hole. Finch had gone for the car, Bear was whimpering and trying to warm John with his body. Fusco stripped his damp jacket off, and used it to cover the now semi-conscious man. Carter's coat was wrapped around Zoe, who was in a slightly better state than her exhausted companion.

They needed to get into the warm, and quickly. Fusco had an idea or two about that too. He could use some warmth himself. Finch was pulling into a driveway before Fusco could voice those thoughts.

The house was straight out of the Addams Family, but Fusco didn't have time to think about that. They exited the car, and while Finch went to open up the house, Carter helped Zoe up the steps. Leaving Fusco alone with Reese and Bear. John was huddled into Fusco's overcoat, his color was better and Fusco was feeling less nervous about the possible outcome. Then he looked down at Reese's wrists resting in his lap.

"Jeez, John." Fusco reached into his pocket and pulled out a large handkerchief, reaching for the right wrist. Carefully wrapping the cloth around the worst of the cuts. The blue-gray eyes looked at him with gratitude, John was still shivering and clearly not up to talking much. Finch arrived back, and Fusco helped him get John out of the car. Not even wondering why he was now calling the bane of his existence, John.

The house was warm, and under Finch's direction, Fusco guided Reese up the stairs towards a bedroom.

"We need to get him warmed up." Fusco said.

"What do you suggest?" came the clipped reply. The _well d'oh_ was silent.

"Get him in the shower, warm him up that way." Fusco steered Reese's tottering steps towards the bathroom as Finch slipped past him to turn the shower on.

_Don't think about it Fusco_.

He kicked his shoes off, stripped his pants, and pulled off his socks, Finch helped him get Reese partially undressed, and then Fusco half-pushed, half-dragged Reese into the shower, and vigorously rubbed hard, trying to restore his circulation properly.

To his relief the man seemed to respond to the rather rough and ready treatment. He started to regain his color and stand on his own. Just as Fusco thought it was really working, Reese reeled.

"Dammit." Fusco caught him before he could hit the floor. "John hang on."

The big man put his left hand up to his head. "Halothane," he muttered thickly.

_Oh shit_. Fusco correctly interpreted the signs, as did Harold, John stumbled out of the shower, and fell to his knees over the toilet. He retched until he could heave no more, what little that came up just bile.

John sagged, closing his eyes in exhaustion miserably aware that he was being supported by Finch and Fusco. The three of them were soaking wet, at least partially undressed, and that Reese had the headache from hell.

"Zoe?"

"Miz Morgan is fine, Mr Reese. Detective Carter is taking care of her."

Despite the headache and the nausea and the general feeling of dizzy lightheadedness, John could think of a few reasons why that would be a bad idea.

It hurt to think. He hurt. His wrists were throbbing badly, his head pounding, and he wearily allowed Harold and Fusco to steer him towards the bed. He was so exhausted he just allowed them to do whatever they wanted, following their directions without thought.

Soft bed, soft pillows, warm quilt… warm fur… warm bodies. He was too tired to put it all together, he lay still and let sleep wash over him.

Getting John changed into dry sweats from his soaked and torn clothing was a struggle. Fusco was tired, soaked and miserable. There was a longish robe, which he figured belonged to the big guy, it was a godforsaken hour of the morning, Carter had not stirred from Zoe's side and Fusco had to get some shut eye. The only space, next to John.

Fusco pulled the covers up and slid in, as Harold had done on the other side. Wrapped in John's robe which at least covered everything, Lionel finally managed to relax, dimly aware that Harold was on the other side of John and Bear was sprawled across John's legs.

Thinking. Well thinking was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place. Fusco closed his eyes.

* * *

John was warm. His bruised body ached like hell, his wrists and his head were throbbing, but he was warm. He burrowed into the pillows, aware that there were people either side of him. Figuring out why when his head hurt so much was taxing, but he couldn't sense a threat.

He rolled on his side and changed position, slowly moving his sore arm to curve around the form cuddled up to his right side.

It took a second or two for his brain to process the information. Zoe was lean and slender with a dancer's body, she didn't have short hair.

Fusco lurched awake from a lovely dream about a Hawaiian maiden. Hawaiian maidens were not over six foot, nor did they have heavy, muscular arms.

Reese popped an eye open with difficulty and blearily focused on what he was cuddled up to.

Fusco lifted the covers silently and took a peek at the arm. It was lean and muscular, with a well-bandaged wrist.

It was the mother of awkward moments. They froze.

Reese wondered how he could gracefully extract his arm and pretend that it hadn't happened, while Fusco was contemplating how easy it would be to take a dive through the bathroom door that was three feet away, without the big guy noticing.

The weight across Reese's legs moved. With a sinuous wriggle, the lean furry body insinuated itself between Reese and Fusco, under Reese's elbow, and a long tongue curved around the big man's cheek.

Reese clutched Bear to him like a lifeline, closing his eyes, while Lionel beat a hasty retreat to the bathroom.


	7. Chapter 7

_Well that was awkward_. Zoe Morgan stretched as she stood under the welcome stream of hot water in the shower. She hated letting her guard down, and as sick as it sounded she was hugely grateful that if she had to be trapped and buried in a box by a lunatic with a soundless bell fixation; Mr Tall, Dark and Handsome was there to hold her hand and keep her sane.

She really didn't want to think about how he'd torn his wrists up to free them both. Or how perversely good it felt to be held closely in his arms. He held her and she could keep faith that someone would come for them.

Harold would always come for John.

And Jocelyn Carter would too.

That was the awkward part.

She had seen the way the pretty detective looked at John. And the way that John Reese looked at Detective Carter. Something almost worshipful in his gaze. Zoe had no doubt whatsoever that John Reese would take a bullet for Carter. She had even messed with them a little, introducing herself as John's wife. She had seen his sudden gulp, his eyes slid sideways as he almost bolted.

All of which left Zoe trying to work out exactly where she stood. She knew she loved John. She knew that he had feelings for her. She felt that when they were alone in the dark together, when he'd wrapped his arms so tightly around her trying to give her the last of his warmth. So Zoe would live.

She wasn't sure how she was going to handle either these feelings of love, or John's feelings. She just knew she wanted to try.

Just as she couldn't help the feeling of triumph when Detective Carter had very reluctantly had to go in to work. The detective's strange, tubby little friend had disappeared soon after. Leaving Harold and Zoe alone with John.

* * *

Harold Finch bent anxiously over his partner. "Mr Reese, are you sure you don't need a doctor?"

Reese didn't even bother to open his eyes, just burrowed deeper into the bed clothes, his arms still wrapped loosely around Bear. Harold didn't even try to get the dog off the bed. He knew how soothing Bear's furry presence could be. And there were no anti-pet rules here. He wanted to have a closer look at John's wrists, they'd done no more than clean the wounds up and bandage them the night before. But Harold needed to get on to the case again, to allow Fusco to deal with the situation.

"Miz Morgan, are you quite sure you feel up to dealing with Mr Reese today?"

She smiled gently at him, he knew that he revealed his concern for Reese's health, but for John Reese to stay put in bed he had to be feeling pretty bad. She also knew that in an oblique way, Finch was expressing his concern for her health too.

"We will be fine. We need to stop this guy."

Finch was reluctant, but Zoe was right. And she was responsible, it wasn't like he would be leaving John to the ministrations of an idiot. However much Harold wanted… needed to stay; to make sure John was all right.

He realised this was another hang-over from the Root incident. The need to be certain that John was safe. He knew that Carter had thought that John was dead when they had dragged him from the grave last night, she wasn't the only one, his heart had almost stopped at the sight.

Leaving them alone was a hard decision, but one he had to make to stop this man.

* * *

Finally, they were alone. Zoe made herself and John a warm drink and went back upstairs.

John was curled on his side, burrowed into the covers, the cheek she could see was flushed, and there was sweat on his brow, his silvered hair darkening with the sweat. Bear had made himself comfortable cuddled up close to John. John's arms were round Bear and the Mallinois had made himself at home. His long legs stretched out, he lay on his side, his back pressed to John's sternum.

Zoe put the drinks down on the bedside table, and covered John's over. Pulled a chair up to the bedside and sat down. She reached out to touch John's hand, certain that his temperature had gone up and he was experiencing the after effects of being drugged, brutally tied up and dumped in a freezing box a couple of feet below ground.

Bear's head came up off the bed. He didn't growl, or menace her in any way, but Zoe was clear that he was watching. She didn't know Dutch. And somehow, Bear was taking care of John. Somewhere in his doggy brain, John needed care, and Bear was supplying it.

_Care Bear_.

_Oh god. Stop it_. Even the man's dog was cute. She was being cuted out by a trained killer and a trained killer dog. She was wrong in the head, and that was for certain.

She eased back in the chair.

The dark brown eyes watched her for a beat or two more, then the head was laid back down. The nose brushed John's chin. Gently. Offering comfort. _Dammit_. Now she was jealous of a dog.

She was suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. That had to be it.

* * *

He ached all over. If anything it was worse than when he regained his senses while Fusco was holding him upright in the shower, his head felt like it was on fire. He burrowed a little more. Resting his tight, painful forehead against the silky soft head. Bear's velvety triangular ears softly caressed his cheeks. His wrists hurt. More than they had yesterday. They felt tight, hot and sore. He was probably coming down with something, and very well aware that Zoe was watching him anxiously from the chair.

He tried to swallow, but his throat hurt, and he just wanted sleep.

His furry guardian was watching Zoe. He could feel subtle changes in the dog's movements. If he had had it left in him to smile he would have.

Bear was watching out for his Alpha.

Sleep was a bust. He hurt too much for that, and he was starting to think that Finch had been right, he needed a doctor, because he would have given anything for something cool against his forehead.

Fingers gently brushed his forehead. He was dimly aware that she left the chair, he closed his hot, burning eyes, as tears leaked beneath his lashes. The fingers were back, gently brushing his hair aside, the cool cloth molded to his forehead. Another carefully pressed to the back of his neck.

John drifted then as his guardians, both furry and female, took care of him.


	8. Chapter 8

Reese felt like death. Given what had happened to them he could almost appreciate the irony of that. But it didn't help the headache, the shivers or the feeling that someone had stuffed his lungs with quicksand and sanded down his throat while doing it.

Every breath hurt, swallowing hurt worse, and each cough nearly killed him.

Every footfall across the carpet sounded like a jackhammer.

Even being shot by a CIA sniper didn't hurt like this.

He had never been more thoroughly miserable in his life. Being woken up at regular intervals to drink was one thing, but Zoe hadn't managed to persuade him to eat. Just the thought of food made his stomach clench.

The two trips to the bathroom a humiliation that Reese never wanted to remember for as long as he lived.

Right now Mark Snow could walk through the door, and put a bullet in John and that would be just fine.

Even Bear's comfort wasn't helping much.

Reese knew it was late, it had to be, the sun had passed by the window. Making him wince at the glare. It was dark outside now. Zoe had been quietly tending to his needs for hours, but Carter was at the house, and it was too much. He couldn't sort through the emotions.

He had feelings for them both in different ways. Zoe was his match, adaptive, cunning, intuitive, she could turn almost anything to her advantage, even him. Carter, the true moral compass, brave, compassionate, intelligent, honest, honorable. Everything that John wished he was.

He peeled open an eyelid with difficulty and peered at the two steaming drinks side by side on the bedside table. Joss' mug of warm chocolate arrived about three minutes before Zoe's mug of milky sweet tea. You could cut the tension with a knife.

Then Joss and Zoe both decided to call Bear for a walk. Bear sat up. John watched his furry companion sniff the air and then bound towards Zoe. Watching the way that Bear was enthusiastically licking Zoe's fingers, John had the feeling that a little bacon grease might have gone a long way to winning Bear's heart.

With Bear gone, John could feel the shivers building again. He pulled his aching wrists into his chest shuddering with cold. He shut his eyes tight.

Gentle fingers brushed his forehead, smoothed his hair back, and something cool and soothing wiped across his skin. Then he felt the weight of something spread over him and a body settled next to him.

"I know I'm not Bear." A sympathetic voice said quietly, "but I guess you don't really care about that right now."

He would have shaken his head, he wasn't sure that he could sort any of this out in his mind, everything hurt. Warmth, comfort… he rested his aching head against her without a word.

Joss stroked the back of his head, surprised that her guy in the suit would let his guard down so far, waiting for the medicated stick she had swiped across his forehead to actually do something. As tempting as it would have been to crow about it, Zoe's 'win' in the Bear stakes left the field open for Joss, but any thoughts of triumph died when Bear moved away and she got a close look at John.

She had seen him sick before. She had seen him more than half dead after having been shot twice, but this was worse. She hadn't been present in the weeks while he recovered from his gunshot wounds. Last night she had helped drag him from a grave, and in those first few heart-stopping moments she had thought he was gone. It broke her heart.

Until that moment, she hadn't quite believed the hold that John Reese had on her heart. And she didn't want to think about the ebb and flow of her emotions now.

He was feeling lousy, and if she could help, even if it was something as simple as just being with him while he slept, that would have to do.

She knew that Finch and Fusco were off somewhere dealing with the problem at hand. For John's sake she was prepared to deal with Zoe, even perhaps cede a little ground for the sake of peace. John needed a quiet environment now.

He cuddled against her. He just wanted to stop feeling so sick. Joss gently lifted his left wrist, unwrapping the bandage. The cuts were a mess, the wrist swollen and a little warm to the touch. "John, I really should clean these up for you." She intended to get up and go get the supplies to do it, but he made a funny sound back in his throat then, and it nearly broke her heart all over again.

She slid down a little, and wrapped her arms around him. He leaned into her. She knew the tears on his cheeks were just a stress reaction to how sick he was feeling, his wheezing breaths were down to a simple chest infection and his sinuses were probably the size of pinholes, but that didn't take into account her own emotional response to him.

His tears left trails on his cheeks, the long black lashes clumped and spiky, even in a day his cheeks seemed a little more hollow. She had never expected to see her tough guy in a suit so vulnerable again. This had nothing to do with her. John's sickness and pain came from another source entirely, but emotionally, Joss felt responsible.

She couldn't be with him when he was shot, but she could be with him now.

* * *

Zoe climbed the stairs, Bear trotting just ahead of her. Winning the contest to take Bear out was both a blessing and a torture, because it left Detective Carter alone with John. Zoe wasn't sure she liked that, given John's obvious attraction to the pretty detective.

She liked the scene she walked in on in John's bedroom still less. John curled up with Detective Carter. His head on her shoulder, her arms around him; galling to say the least even if Zoe could see the motive was not sexual. She was surprised at the pang of jealousy that stung her.

_Jealous_. Zoe mentally rolled her eyes. John was sick, if anything he looked worse than he had only a few hours earlier. The flush on his cheeks had increased in tone and spread, his wheezing sounded worse, his eyes were screwed shut and there was a look of abject misery on his face.

A serpentine pang of sneaky pleasure stole through Zoe's psyche just then. If Detective Jocelyn Carter had turned out to be some sort of Holy Grail which healed John by touch alone, Zoe would have been severely disappointed.

Bear jumped on the bed then, wormed his way up between Carter and Reese and rested his head against John's collarbone. Without opening his eyes, Reese's arms wound around his furry companion again. Zoe smiled as the brown head tilted back, the nose brushed gently against the man's jaw, and a long pink tongue very gently swept the scarlet cheek.

Carter eased away as the Malinois stretched out his long legs, and snuggled his body close to his Alpha's.

Care Bear.


End file.
